Confess?
by dandelion-heart
Summary: Will you tell that special person? Will you express those feelings or will you deny them for another day? Is it a yes or a no?
1. rain

(rain)

**yes** / no

It was drizzling outside and the pitter patter of gentle rain was lulling Makoto to sleep. She was slumped against the bus stop post, eyes half-open, too tired to bother checking if the bus was even coming up the hill.

She heard the metallic grind of pedals and the squish of mud under rubber tires before she saw it – the bicycle moving slowly in the mist, the rider bent forward over it. She contemplated calling out just to say hello, recognizing the plain uniform, but decided not to.

A few minutes passed and the rider, now in her direct line of vision, got off the bike, stretching. He turned to face her. Makoto blinked, her lids heavy.

"Makoto?" Chiaki grinned as he strode towards her, drenched, his hair plastered over his forehead. "What are you doing here?"

"My bike got stuck," she replied sourly, expecting him to laugh at her and then leave. He didn't, and then she readied herself for a well-delivered insult. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his gangly tall form leaning over her as always, smile stretched wide. But no stinging remark came and she shifted, catching him bite his lip as he gazed back out to his bike.

"Well mine was kind of stuck, too. I had to really dig it out of the swamp in the lot. But now that it's free, I don't know where to ride it without battling the mud."

"The path near the Yoshimuras right there," she pointed vaguely slightly to the right. "The back-lot leads to a paved private road and from there, a nice sidewalk. It goes to my house and I'd take it if my stupid bike wasn't stuck."

Chiaki looked back at her, brows raised in amusement.

"Wanna ride?"

"I'm too heavy, I'll get your bike stuck again," she yawned.

"Oh come on, we just tease you about the weight," he laughed. "Let's go," he said, taking her hand despite her half-hearted protest.

"You know you love me for this," he nudged her as they approached the bicycle and Makoto sighed, hiding a relieved smile as she clambered over the back-seat, her feet dangling.

"Oh, of course I do," she rolled her eyes and he winked before pushing off.

(a/n) _This set is inspired by LiveJournal's 10iloveyou fic challenge and so in every shot, there will be an opportunity, realized or missed, for a character to say an "I love you" confession. __Hope you enjoyed!_


	2. years

(years)

yes / **no**

"What are you doing here?" She exclaimed, hands clasped at her throat and her knees slightly bent.

He wished he knew the answer to that question as well. He could make up an adequate explanation or a rational sounding excuse but nothing came to mind. He wished he knew why his brain was filled with answers to everything else but that question.

"I wanted," he began, words pulled out into a drawl, "to see where you were."

Makoto raised her eyebrows, her hip jutting out as she crossed her arms. She stood full height before him and he suddenly realized he should probably stand up. He moved to pull himself up when her fingers pushed down on his head and he froze.

"You're staying here until you tell me the full story," she glared. "You knew where I was, I told you that!"

The other museum-goers were doing their best to either ignore or shush them with threatening glances. Makoto readily ignored them and stared down at him instead, her gaze unrelenting.

"I didn't mean to-" he started again but stopped with a sigh. It was no good lying, especially when Makoto's mouth was twitching with disappointment.

"I wanted to see what you did."

"Did to what?"

"You go to see the painting every year but you never told me why and you never invite me along so I know I'm not supposed to come," he sulked, annoyed with how childish he sounded and how loudly his voice echoed in the gallery hall.

Makoto opened her mouth but said nothing, running her tongue over the back of her teeth. She exhaled and dropped her head.

"Yeah, I know. I guess I was being-"

"Irrational?"

"Are you pushing your luck?" Her rebuke brought him back to freshman year when her blustering and exasperated remarks woke the whole classroom up. He held back a laugh.

"It's nothing that important, really. All I do is look over there," she pointed to the painting both of them would recognize anywhere, "and…"

"Think to him that you're doing your best, right?"

He knew she had turned in surprise but he looked away as he stood, brushing the dust off the back of his jeans.

"I kind of guessed that's what you did. But you know, it would have been nice to ask me to come. I'd like to say something to the bastard, too."

"Kousuke!" Makoto gasped but he grinned as he dodged her playful shove. He had somehow managed to lie in the end, after all. If there was one thing he wanted to do in the museum, it was stare at the reflection of her face in the glass and see how she looked when she remembered the boy she fell in love with.

The boy who got her to lie to him for the first time since they had been friends.


	3. simple

(simple)

yes / **no**

It was an unspoken rule. Somehow, after striking up a normal conversation that did not involve science lab and Japanese composition, Makoto and Kousuke were officially friends and officially off-limits to each other. They sat by one another in several classes and found it easy to talk even though she fell asleep during lecture and he refused to help her in algebra.

The first time they hung out after school was to go do some karaoke and Makoto secretly thought that no other boy would have listened to her request. Kousuke was sort of strange – at first he didn't seem to talk much, but he now he had random bursts of exceptional dry humor that sent her sputtering in search of a good comeback. He had an earring and thick glasses that made him look like a nerdy delinquent and when she whispered that to him as he tried tutoring her in the library, he laughed so hard that everyone turned with exasperated glares.

Makoto didn't listen to anyone, least of all herself and her surprising wealth of expert advice, but when Kousuke asked her to do something, she would…eventually. He didn't need to intimidate her like he had to with the kids he tutored but something about peering over his lenses sent her scurrying away to do his bidding. He didn't know why, but the urge to boss her around never arose – instead, he dealt with annoying juvenile boys who thought teasing her was harmless and without repercussions. Makoto was a strange girl but the day she confided in him that she wasn't afraid of his scowl was the day he melted a bit on the inside.

Their first year ended with the two as comfortable and uneasy around each other as they had been on the first day. It might have been because of the unspoken rule, but they refused to look at each other for too long, talk on the phone for too long, spend too many minutes taking out their bikes from the stands as they waved goodbye. It wasn't as if they didn't have any other friends – but she was his only girl friend, he her only boy friend. And the space between those two words yawned and broke down too often to give them a chance to breathe easy.

Until Chiaki appeared during their second year and the duo became a trio. There was no need to worry about their interactions – they were a group and inseparable and the unspoken rule faded away like an afterthought.

Maybe it was because Chiaki wasn't there when the unspoken rule was agreed upon. Maybe it was because Makoto and Kousuke knew each other first. Maybe it was because of all of this and more that Chiaki dared to step out and toward Makoto and Kousuke realized he had lost the race.

Or maybe this was simply meant to happen all along. Maybe Chiaki was just the bravest of the three to act on what had been lying under the surface for all of them.

The only thing that remained unclear long after high school ended was the lingering thought – who did Makoto want to hear out first?


	4. grace

(grace)

**yes** / no

"People only watch this channel because they're afraid of going out and seeing the real thing," Chiaki muttered, scratching the nape of his neck. "This is so boring."

"No it's not," Kousuke sighed patiently, holding the remote securely behind his back. "This has such great footage, look at how beautifully everything's been captured."

"You sound like such a nerd," Chiaki snorted, rolling his eyes at Makoto. She shrugged and turned her focus back onto the cranes strolling about on the television screen. They watched in silence for a few moments before Makoto glanced back at Chiaki. He was staring at her, interest mingled with befuddlement.

"You're actually watching, too?"

"Why not?" Makoto grinned. "It's not that bad."

"No, it's horrible," Chiaki frowned. He narrowed his eyes and sunk down into the sofa. "We should have gone for karaoke instead."

"Not that again Chiaki."

"Yeah we've gone for the past two nights," Makoto chided. Chiaki glared at her.

"Now you're taking Kousuke's side? Who wants to see a special on birds?"

"Cranes," Makoto corrected, and she shared a sidelong look with a highly amused Kousuke. Chiaki shook his head at the two of them. One of the cranes squawked importantly and tossed his head up and down, shaking the bright plumage on the crown of his head.

"Look Chiaki, that's you," Makoto giggled.

"And that's you," Chiaki pointed to a lumbering hippo in the background. Makoto glowered at him as Kousuke gave him a high five, laughing.

"Ah, what would I do without you two?"

"You'd miss out on all the fun I give," Chiaki grinned as Makoto attempted to shove him off the sofa. "That's why you love me, bro."

"Don't go all sentimental on me," Kousuke held back a chuckle, turning around after a minute of loud and exasperated tussling. Chiaki suddenly yelped in pain and dashed off the couch, clutching his ear. Makoto settled into her new spot triumphantly.

"Nah, I think Kousuke loves me better," she laughed and stuck out her tongue.


	5. betrayal

(betrayal)

**yes** / no

Words meant nothing. What meant anything at all was the rage in his chest, the anxious throbbing of his heart watching her run, hands clenched, eyes closed and the irises underneath the lids covered with a sheen of liquid. What meant something important and alarming and terrifying was how he ran after her and didn't follow her past the doors and watched her stagger and fall, crying so loudly, his lungs filled and then stopped, the air bubbling inside. He turned around and wondered and hoped that he had the courage to go after her but he didn't and he couldn't and his heart burst.

He was friends with him first. He found him sulking by the back of the school, lip bleeding and eyes narrowed, gaze suspicious. He pocketed his hands, commended his fighting skills and then backed off with an encouraging smile. He knew the guy with hair like bleached flame would follow and he would strike up conversations he could engage in and he wasn't a bad guy at all. He knew because he was once the student who began every exchange of blows in his own school and he didn't judge and he didn't mind and the red-haired boy grinned and they were friends.

But for all the likeness they shared, Makoto was always his friend first. She was the one he was trying to figure out, trying to understand, trying to keep up with as she raced through life with a voracious appetite for adventure and fun. His lifeline shortened and his sight broadened and he was never left wandering without a sense of direction. Makoto never pointed north but she was his eternal guide.

Chiaki never hurt her. He may even have loved her. He wasn't sure of anything anymore. He wasn't sure why, having befriended him first, having trusted him before any of the other wary students and teachers, he was the one forgotten and left without a proper farewell. And now Makoto was running away so quickly that he had forgotten how to deal with angry tears and emotional heart rips.

Words were useless and so he didn't know what to do. His strength was talking, theirs was always doing. She ran and he pointed the way and Kousuke, silent and useless Kousuke, followed with an occasional word of advice. Advice was meaningless now.

He sat down on the steps and closed his eyes feeling his world crash around the staircase as she walked back out, fingertips brushing his shoulder.


	6. heart

(heart)

**yes** / no

There were lots of things she wanted to do today. There were many things she planned to do tomorrow, too.

But there was only one thing she wished she could have done yesterday.

But it wasn't yesterday and it wasn't the day before and it wasn't even the week before when someone had strode up to her, flushed and stuttering, giving himself away before he asked, quietly and hopefully with a ring from his pocket and smile from the crowd.

Her one wish vanished years ago - when she was truly young and when she could be forgiven for holding onto regrets like the plush toys she curled up with at night to try and fool herself into feeling as if she still appreciated their downy soft. Years ago when someone had missed his own chance and then both of them blundered on their own paths, running in opposite directions, not thinking, not knowing. Years ago when a boy left and his mistake was not doing what she should have done at the very last moment. But it all fell onto her in the end - it was her fault.

Some words died on yesterdays and never came back to meet at an undisclosed location in the future.

Kousuke stood there, rubbing the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly.

"That must have been pretty embarrassing."

"It was."

"So you guys broke up..?"

"He said we should."

"At least you don't care."

She flinched and stared but he smiled and gave her a gentle nudge.

"That's a good thing. A very good thing."

She kept her eyes on his until his smile faded and she felt honest and raw and guilty for regretting and punishing someone else. He never asked who she was with and what she did with him but something like vengeance urged her to inform Kousuke all the same.

She'd spit out every excruciating detail and then find herself oddly hollow afterwards, as if she was just a vessel to send out messages in a bottle to a lone island waiting for her to dock. Waiting for her to come home but home was a sea she could never find. A sea that smelled like grass and pebbles on the shore and squeaky tires and graphite on paper and sweet baby corn and sushi.

A sea more like memories she could have avoided drowning in years ago.

Just by whispering some love. If only yesterday hadn't left.


	7. addiction

(addiction)

**yes** / no

It was really quite stupid of him, in retrospect. How he had ever expected, had ever imagined she would have said yes, was beyond him. Now her face, blank with the mouth open, was trapped in memory and sight, for forever.

Yes yes, it had been long ago but when had that ever stopped man from remembering? And yes yes, she was intent on following him through the future until "she belongs to the past" died on his lips faster than the train that woke him most nights to sticky camp air and prickling undergrowth. But there was more to it, and that face was a picture, a portrait an image a sight he lived off when bread grew moldy and water ran with iron veins and air was too heavy to breathe without cloth smeared over your mouth.

She had a small, pointed nose and wide eyes filled with more white than brown that made her look lonely and lost when she forgot to close her mouth as she stared absent-mindedly out the window. She had sharp teeth that weren't afraid to bite and snap and quick hands that made him shiver when they brushed over his arms, fingerprints like lingering hot prints of something, love, no it must've been something else.

Never mind that yes, they could have been something like together and she came the closest to catching him and screaming out that yes she agreed and they could be. If only…

But it hadn't happened and so he pretended she was beautiful and frozen for him to find sustenance in. In every small contour of her mouth and every red pixel from the blush there was hope he fed off, angry because this beauty was proof, the proof he had fooled himself into thinking was in an older image, abstract and gold and fake compared to this girl's eyes.

And so he pretended she wasn't sharing his ache something like years and destinies away. He lingered, alone and silent in the dark, feeling as if this pain was singular and all his own.

And he told himself it was stupid to think, in retrospect, she would ever have said yes.


	8. months

(months)

yes / **no**

"It's not a year Makoto."

"Well I round up, so I say it is!"

"Always impatient…you better not jinx the baby."

"Don't be superstitious."

He narrowed his eyes back at her wink and grunted in reply as she thanked him and hopped off his office desk.

"I'm just telling you to be careful."

"As usual," she clucked.

"Well, Chiaki isn't exactly the most responsible person to temper your bad habits…"

"Hey now, we've done pretty well, haven't we?" She grinned and her white teeth, thanks to his recommended cleaning regimen he noted, gleamed. "Thanks for the referrals though, really."

She stepped forward and he let her give him her signature tighter-than-it-should-be goodbye squeeze.

"Tell that idiot that he should make some time to come see me, too."

"I will," Makoto gave a small wave and stepped out of the room. There was a brief moment of absolute silence and then she whirled back inside the room, somehow already breathless.

"I forgot my phone," she laughed.

"He'd just buy you another one like last time." Kousuke bit back a smile.

"Hey! I still feel guilty about that!"

"Go or you'll miss your train," he snorted, setting aside the last pack of paperwork on his desk.

"Ok! Bye for real!" She gave a smart salute and ran out once more.

Kousuke waited another few seconds just to be sure, and then let his smile break out in full. It was as if with Chiaki's home-coming leap back in time, he had also brought a Makoto from the past – the one who still knew how to shout and laugh, sometimes both at the same time.

And his ribs still hurt, but it was nice to get one of her special hugs again.


End file.
